Letters From Your Son
by where's-waldo-15
Summary: AU! As he grows up, he watches his mum from afar, sometimes getting interacting, sometimes just watching. Through it all, he writes letters to her in his journal, and makes birthday and Christmas cards. One day, he will give the journal of letters and cards to her. But not today. Suicidal themes, you've been warned. Rated T - R&R!


**So this is a little idea that popped into my head after I dreamed about this happening a couple of weeks ago. It took me a while to write, because I wanted to get it just right for you guys. Yes, it's very OOC on all characters, but that's the point of FanFiction, isn't it? You can write what you want without having to worry about it, because it's okay on websites like this. :)**

**Oh, and a bit of advice for the story to make a bit more sense: when you read the letters, look at the dates, because there's a reason that they are what they are. **

**Anyway, there are suicidal themes, as I said in the summary, and some parts are a little dark, so if you don't like it, please don't give me crap for it. And if you do like that kind of stuff, well…enjoy!**

**~WC~**

The little boy walked across the street with the group of people, making sure to always stay by someone so that it would appear that he wasn't alone.

He didn't feel alone. He was following the young lady about twenty feet ahead of him. He clutched a plastic daffodil in his small hand, blue eyes bright with anticipation. He ran to catch up with her once he was across the street. He saw her arguing with a man about her age with dark hair, but he ignored the man, tugging at the hem of her dress.

She stopped and looked down at him in surprise.

"I got this for you," the little boy said, holding out the daffodil to her.

A smile spread across the pretty lady's face as she bent down to his level, taking the flower from him.

"Thank you, young man," she said, her hazel eyes warm.

Before she could say anything else though, the little boy turned and ran away.

~WC~

_March 3, 1996_

_Dear Mummy,_

_I gave you a daffodil today. It wasn't a real daffodil, but you were nice to me anyway. That made me happy. I saw you arguing with that other man, too. I hope that everything is okay._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_April 14, 1996_

_Dear Mummy,_

_I watched you today from the Central Park. I saw you with another man. I heard you call him Peter. You were nice to him. I liked that. He looks nice. I didn't talk to you today, but I fed the birds bread crust. Do you like feeding the birds? I hope so._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_May 12, 1996_

_Dear Mummy,_

_Today is Mother's Day. I drew you a picture of you and me together, but I didn't give it to you. I keep it in my pocket. I left you a card on your doorstep, but I didn't put my name on it. I watched you when you got home, and you looked really confused. I know you don't care that you are my mum, but you are, and so I have to get a card for you on Mother's Day. Before Daddy died last year, he told me that you didn't want to know me, but I want to know you._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_July 17, 1996_

_Dear Mummy,_

_Today is my friend Mozzie's birthday. He's four years older than me, so he's ten. He's my best friend. I drew him a picture of us at the park. He was happy. It made me glad to see him happy. He's usually sad._

_Are you happy today? I hope so._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_November 28, 1996_

_Dear Mummy,_

_Today is Thanksgiving. I saw you talking with your friends from school. I know they came out to have Thanksgiving with you and the other man. You didn't look happy when the other man said yes when you asked if he would have Thanksgiving dinner with you. Why weren't you happy? Why would you ask him to dinner if you didn't want him there?_

_I'm not doing anything special. I'm having dinner at the FCC like normal. I think they're serving pie tonight, too, though. I like cherry pie best. What does FCC stand for? I always forget._

_Have a good Thanksgiving._

_Love, _

_Your son_

~WC~

_December 25, 1996_

_Dear Mummy,_

_Today is Christmas! I woke up and I saw snow outside. Mozzie said that the snow was because the government was shaving the polar ice cap and redistrubuting it to cover up the doors to their underground lairs to do their secret testing. I don't know what that means, but I don't think it's true, whatever it is. Mozzie says a lot of weird stuff that doesn't make any sense._

_Last night Nanna read us the Christmas story from the Bible, and then we all acted it out. Since I'm the smallest, I got to play Baby Jesus. What did you do today?_

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_March 21, 1997_

_Dear Mummy,_

_Today is my birthday. I'm seven years old now, so I have to be responsible. That's what Nanna said. What's responsible? I think it means that I can't call you Mummy anymore. I should call you Mum. But I want to call you Mummy still. But I'll try to get used to calling you Mum. But it's still weird._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_August 27, 1997_

_Dear Mum,_

_I saw you today with the other man. You were mad, but you were crying, too. Why were you crying? I was sad to see you cry. You said mean things to each other, and then you slapped him and walked away. I hope everything is okay._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_February 18, 1998_

_Dear Mum, _

_I went to a new house today. The other people didn't like me because I draw too much, and they want someone who likes to play baseball. I've never played baseball before. How do I play?_

_It was Valentine's Day on Saturday, so at school last Friday, we had a party. We wrote Valentine's to our most special people. Most of the kids wrote one for their Mum__my or their Dad. I made one for you, but I didn't give it to you. I know you don't want to know me, and that's okay. But I like to think about what it could've been, if you didn't give me away._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_October 30, 1998_

_Dear Mum,_

_Tomorrow is Halloween. I'm dressing up as a police officer. It's cold outside. My new family, the Kellers, are letting me go trick-or-treating with their son, Matthew. He's nice, and he's only four months older than me. They're from England. Isn't that cool? I want to go to England some day._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_March 21, 1999_

_Dear Mum,_

_It's my birthday again. I'm nine years old now. I can't stay with the Kellers anymore, because they don't have enough money to take care of me and Matthew and all of Matthew's brothers. I'm back at the center again, but that's okay. I still go to the same school as Matthew, so we'll still see each other every day at lunch._

_I went out today to go walking, and I met Mozzie again. I haven't seen him for a long time, but he still remembered me. I found out that he does illegal stuff, like stealing and faking art. He told me he would teach me how to do the stuff that he does. Isn't that exciting?_

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_November 17, 1999_

_Dear Mum,_

_I'm still at the center, but I don't care. Mozzie has taught me so much, and I have a lot of secret money hidden away. I counted it yesterday – I have $742.18! Sometimes I wonder what you would say to that if I was __really__ telling you, instead of writing all of my letters to you in this old journal. Maybe someday I will give this to you, when I'm older. But I'm only nine. I don't want you to get me in trouble, like you should do, because you're my mum, and that's what mums are supposed to do. But I don't think you would be too mad at me._

_No, never mind. I think you would be __really__ mad at me. You thought I was so terrible that you gave me away the day that I was born, and if you found out that I was committing crimes daily…I think you would be mad._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_May 14, 2000_

_Dear Mum,_

_It's Mother's Day again. I saw you walking from the big building for lunch, and you looked unhappy. Why were you unhappy? I wanted you to be happy, so I bought you a bouquet of red roses from the store and left them in a vase inside your apartment. I know I'm not supposed to break in, but Mozzie gave me a set of lock-picking tools, and I wanted you to be happy when you came home. I didn't sign it, but I think you thought it was from someone else, because later I saw you kissing a man. It was a different man from the one from a couple of years ago, and you looked happier with him. But that's okay. I let you think it was from him, because it made you happy. But I think he's a jerk for letting you think they were from him. He's a coward, I think._

_But if you love him, then that's okay. It's okay that you have enough love in your heart for only one person. But why didn't you love me? I will __always__ love __you__._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_January 31, 2001_

_Dear Mum,_

_I saw you again today. You were alone, at the cemetery. You were crying, and you left a bouquet of lilies on one of the gravestones. It made me gloomy to see you so sad. After you left, I went to the gravestone and saw the names "Neal James Ellis" and "Georgia Anne Ellis" next to each other. I looked at the date and figured out that they had died when you were fifteen. It was on the day I was born. I figured out that they were your parents, too. I'm sorry that you lost them. That must be why you gave me away – because you were afraid to love me too much in case I was gone only days after your parents died._

_But it's okay, Mum! They went to heaven and became angels, and they would want you to be happy. I hope you can be happy some day. Don't worry. You'll see your parents again. Maybe when I die, I can see Dad and you together again, and then we can all be a family. I know you didn't know him, but you will. You'll love him. I know he's not my real dad, but he was a real dad in every sense of the word. He adopted me; he cared for me, he loved me. I know you don't want me now, but I want you. I can wait, though, for when you're ready. And I think that you'll be ready once you become an angel. I already see you as an angel, though. You just have to see it too._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_September 12, 2001_

_Dear Mum,_

_Yesterday was super scary. A plane flew into the Twin Towers, and everyone was scared. I was scared for you, because I know you go on that street a lot. I was afraid that maybe you had died and I wouldn't be able to see you, so I ran around looking for you. I found you near one of the towers, and you were trapped underneath the concrete and rubble. No one could hear or see you, but I did. I moved the rubble aside and helped you out. Your arm was broken, but I used my jacket to put it in a sling. You were dirty and scared, but I still thought you were pretty. I helped you to one of the paramedics, and you thanked me, but I just smiled and walked away._

_Of course, you didn't know who I was. You thought I was just a stranger who was around to help people out. But I was looking for you – only you. I heard you, I helped you. I will always help you._

_Love, _

_Your son_

~WC~

_September 11, 2002_

_Mum,_

_It's been a whole year since 9/11. I saw you in Central Park today. You were staring at the statue of the girl playing the violin. You looked like you were just thinking. What were you thinking about? I thought about you all day, of when I saved you._

_Love,_

_Your son_

~WC~

_July 7, 2003_

_Mum,_

_Today is your birthday. You're twenty-nine now. I made you a card – I folded it in these pages, like I always have. Someday I'll give you all of the birthday cards, Mother's Day cards, Christmas cards, Easter cards, and Get Well Soon cards that I've been storing up. But not today. I'm only thirteen. I'll give them to you when I can get away, when I don't have to be accountable to the foster system._

_– Your son_

~WC~

_April 26, 2004_

_Mum,_

_Mozzie has helped me so much in these past years. He's my best friend now. Soon, we're going to steal a painting. It's called "St. George and the Dragon", and it's by Raphael. It's beautiful. Raphael is my favorite painter out of all of them._

_I have only a few other friends – Ryan and Matthew and Alex and Kate. But I'm not really close to anyone else. I'm going to steal a music box from Copenhagen with Alex and Kate and Mozzie soon. Once I get out of the country._

_I've gotten really good at copying paintings, too. I faked a Degas with Mozzie last week, and we sold it to a "fence", aka a black market dealer. He believed that it was real, so I'm going to do it again._

_– Your son_

~WC~

_March 21, 2005_

_Mum,_

_I'm fifteen now. To celebrate, Mozzie and I conned our way into some rich guy's penthouse hotel suite. Kate showed up a little later, and we all ordered the most expensive food on the room service menu. Did you know that there's a $1,000 hamburger? We ordered five._

_– Your son _

~WC~

_March 29, 2006_

_Mum,_

_Kate is gone._

_I don't know where she took off to, but she's gone AWOL. I haven't seen her for more than a week now. I'm worried that something happened to her. She was supposed to be here for my sixteenth birthday – we were planning another con for celebration, and she looked really excited for this one. Ryan and Matthew were going to help, too, and even Alex, even though she doesn't like Kate. I haven't seen her since the eighteenth, when we robbed the Smithsonian together. After the job, she left without her cut, and no one has seen her since. What do I do?_

_– Your son_

~WC~

_April 17, 2006_

_Kate is dead._

~WC~

_April 19, 2006_

_Mum,_

_I hate everyone. Ryan and Matthew are my enemies. They killed Kate. They said it was an accident, but I know it's not true. You don't just __accidentally__ set the timer on the bomb two minutes earlier on the job, and Kate just __happened__ to be the one to be in the room when the bomb went off._

_I fucking __hate__ them!_

_– Your son_

~WC~

_April 27, 2006_

_Mum,_

_I am living in Hell. Mozzie says that I'm spiraling into the Dark Place, but I've already hit rock bottom. And I just keep going… How can I be so miserable? I loved Kate. I still love her. I don't know how I can live without her. Alex has left me to deal with this myself, and Ryan and Matthew have the good sense to stay the hell away from me._

_I'm living only by the minute, because I think if I look too far ahead, I'm going to fall apart._

_– Your son_

~WC~

_May 13, 2006_

_Mum,_

_I feel…empty. I don't have any more feeling. I don't know when the last time that I smiled was. I don't think I'm ever going to smile again. The thought is just…inconceivable. _

_I think now I understand why you couldn't love me after your parents died the day that I was born. Even though my heart is empty, I can't fit anything else into it. If I try, I think I'll topple over from the imbalance._

_Mozzie is gone right now – he's in Madrid, I think. He's going to be back on Wednesday. That's in four days. It's almost midnight, and I'm alone at the apartment. I think the foster system has given up on me, because I haven't heard from them for several months._

_Tomorrow is Mother's Day. It's perfect. I understand that you can't love me. I think that even sixteen years from now, I won't be able to love anyone either. That's why you went through so many boyfriends, I think – you couldn't love any of them, because you still felt empty._

_This is the last letter I'm going to write to you, because I'm going to leave this journal on your doorstep for you to find in the morning, when you get up. You won't be able to find me, because by the time you've read through all of my letters and cards to you, I will be with Dad again. I'll be an angel too, and years from now, after you've lived a long life and gotten gray and gotten married and had more kids and grandkids – because you will – you'll die and see me and Dad, too. You can meet him. You'll be a beautiful angel, even more beautiful than you are now._

_I've always heard that drowning is the most peaceful way to go. I feel content with my decision, so I think I'll go in the Hudson, at the Lincoln Tunnel. Sunrise is at 5:40 at this time of year. I'll go then, because it's the most beautiful time of the day. I've painted the sunrise several times, but the actual sunrise is much more beautiful._

_Don't feel bad for any of this – it's my own decision. I think I always knew that I was going to go by suicide. I just didn't think it would be this soon. But that's okay. This is the right time._

_Know that I love you; I always have. For a long time I was angry that you gave me away, but I'm not anymore. I understand. Really. And even though you don't know who I am, I know who you are, and because of that, I got through my earlier years. Thank you for being there, even when you didn't know it._

_Also, even though you didn't plan on keeping me when I was born, I'm still glad that you named me, after your parents. I'm glad that even after you didn't love me enough to keep me, you still loved me enough to leave a small part of you with me. Even with a different last name than you, I still like having parts of you __and__ Dad in the name "Neal George Caffrey"._

_Thank you, Mum. I love you._

_Love,_

_Your son, Neal_

~WC~

Sara Ellis' eyes snapped open. She had been startled by something, but she couldn't figure out what it was. She sat up and looked around the room, but nothing seemed amiss. She lied back on her bed and tried to go back to sleep, seeing that it was only three-thirty in the morning, but after almost half an hour of useless tossing and turning, she finally got up, pulling on a pair of jeans over her sleep shorts and a ruffly blouse over her sleep tank. She pulled on her sneakers, and pulled her hair into a messy bun as she went toward her front door. A walk. She needed a walk, and then she could come back and go back to sleep.

She opened the front door, and stepped on something right in the way. She picked it up, and almost tossed it on the table beside the door, thinking it was more mail, but then she realized that it was a book. There was no writing on the front, and it was made out of brown leather. It looked old, with the pages well-worn and a bit wrinkled. A colorful card fell out, and Sara quickly caught it. Looking at it, she saw that it was a birthday card. There were no words, simply a boy and a girl sitting at a table with a cake sitting in front of them. The boy had dark hair, and the girl had red hair. It looked pretty good, though it was clear that it was drawn by a very young child. She opened it and saw two words – clearly meant to say "Happy Birthday!", but instead it said "Hapy Birtday!" She smiled softly and put it back in the pages.

_It must be someone's child's journal,_ she thought, and opened it to the first page, with the intent of looking for a name. The first page had only a few large words, taking up the entire page, clearly written by someone just learning to write.

_May 29, 1993_

_Dear Mummy,_

_You don't know me, but Daddy told me about you. My name is Neal, and I'm your son._

Sara dropped the journal in shock, her eyes filling with tears as she thought of the son she'd put up for adoption within hours of his birth. There was never a day that passed that she hadn't thought about him, and regretted giving him up. But she had been young, and she was still dealing with her parents' sudden death. They'd been in a car accident when they'd been on their way to the hospital to be there for her, for support as she gave birth to her illegitimate son. Their deaths had been instantaneous, and Sara had half-blamed her son for a while. But she had wanted, ever since she had found out that she was going to have a son, for him to be name Neal George, after her parents. So that's what she put on the birth certificate. And then she had watched him be taken by the other man who was looking to adopt.

She had known that the man was single, but she knew that her son would have a better life with him – he would be happier.

Sara looked down at the journal and the colorful papers and cards that spilled out, hardly breathing. She had never thought that she'd hear from her son again, but there it all was, in front of her.

_Screw the walk, _she thought as she picked up the cards, papers, and journal. She closed the door and brought her stuff to the couch.

She read the cards first. They started when he was only three years old, and for every holiday following, every birthday, every one of her celebrations, there was a card, giving her well wishes and a picture. The pictures, as he got older, became more complex and amazing, and she felt a trace of pride at his talent. The man who adopted him – now his father – must've taught him, given him a good life. there was also, on every one of his birthdays since he was eleven, a "Be Happy" card, with him telling her to be happy, even through her parents' deaths.

She was surprised, wondering how he had found out about that, down to the date. Once she was finished with the cards, she went to the journal, starting on the first entry and reading through.

She was also shocked to find that Neal's father had died when he was five, and he was consequently put into foster care. She was saddened to find that none of the families were committed to him, and he was put in and pulled out several times before he seemed to lose hope. When she got to the entry of the daffodil, the first time he mentioned seeing her, she scrunched her eyebrows together, trying to remember the day he had been speaking of. It had been ten years ago…but somehow she still remembered. She couldn't bring his face to mind, but she remembered the bright blue eyes and the dark curls. She had thought of her son when she saw him, but she'd had no idea that he actually _was _her son.

She also remembered that Mother's Day, when she had found the mysterious card on her doorstep. She had never figured out who it was from. Well, now she knew.

She was shocked to learn that he was slowly becoming a criminal, and based on the increasingly distant "letters", she knew that he was starting to subconsciously push her away. She felt a sting of sadness, but she pushed it away. She had given _him _up, after all.

Then she read his entry about 9/11, and when he'd saved her, and she immediately remembered him. She had been impressed by his bravery when he had saved her, and she'd tried to find him after that to thank him properly, but she never could. But she always thought of him, always felt gratitude toward the mysterious teen who had saved her life that terrible day. She felt happy that he still loved her, even without knowing it, and had purposefully sought her out, to make sure that was okay. She suddenly felt an immense love toward him, something she hadn't felt for…years.

She remembered the St. George and the Dragon painting, its mysterious disappearance. She would've gotten 2% for its safe return, but no matter how hard she tried, she could never find it. She smiled a little despite herself when she learned of her son's hotel suite con, and even laughed when she learned of the hamburgers. Then, she saw the next few entries, read of Neal's despair, and the smile vanished from her face. She felt a stabbing at her heart at the thought of her son so…miserable. She realized that tears were streaking down her face.

_When did that happen? _She wondered, but she read on.

Then she got to the last entry, and a sob broke loose from her throat when she read of her son's planned suicide. He was going to drown himself in the Hudson River.

She sobbed even harder when she got to the part about how he always loved her, and she shouldn't blame herself. But she _did_ blame herself. This was her fault. She had given up her son in the time he most needed her – at birth. She should've kept him, been there for him, never mind that she was only fifteen.

He loved her. Even after _all _of this. He had blamed her, in the beginning, but he still loved her. She should've loved him back. It was her duty as mother.

He was going to kill himself, at sunrise. Then the thought struck her – _she could still save him. _She checked her wrist watch. It was almost five-thirty. She had ten minutes.

In a flash, she was out the door of her apartment, not even bothering to lock the door behind her. She quickly hailed a taxi and said to the driver:

"I'll give you five hundred dollars if you get me to the Hudson river at the Lincoln Tunnel in five minutes!"

With a grin, the driver was off, screeching down the road in the direction she'd told him. Five minutes and fifty-two seconds later, she jumped out of the car, giving the driver five hundred-dollar bills as promised. She ran toward the water, trying to find Neal in the darkness.

"Neal!" she called desperately when she couldn't find him. She ran down the road, climbing onto the edge of the tunnel. "_Neal!_"

Then she saw him, standing at the edge of the concrete, staring down into the water.

She instantly knew it was him. He looked just like his biological father had at his age, the young man she'd hooked up with at a club where she'd pretended she was twenty-one to get into. She had never seen the young man after that night, but she still remembered him, clear as day. Neal had her nose, too, but he mostly looked like him.

Neal was too far away, the cars were too loud, the wind too piercing, so he couldn't hear her call to him, and, before she could stop it, he stepped over the edge of the concrete, toward the water below.

Sara's heart dropped to her feet as she watched, and then, running on pure instinct, she shot forward and hauled the upper half of her body over the edge of the concrete, hands reaching out for her son.

She was just barely able to catch his wrist, and she held on with both hands, struggling to keep him up as she kept her legs and feet braced on the tunnel so that she wouldn't go over as well.

Bright blue eyes stared up at her, and Sara was caught breathless at the pain in those eyes. He looked desperate, lost, despairing, as he stared up at her. Then those wonderful eyes filled with recognition, and he said, breathless with amazement, "Mum."

Sara saw something clear and wet drip into his tousled hair, on his forehead, and she realized that they were her tears. "Yes," she gasped, also breathless. "Yes," she repeated, and said, "Don't do this."

His face contorted in pain, sorrow. "I have to," he whispered, his words somehow reaching her ears. "I can't…I can't go on – not alone – not like this."

Neal's face became blurry, and Sara realized that she was sobbing silently, but uncontrollably. "You're not alone," she said fiercely, with determination. "Not anymore. I'm here. I'll help you, son – Neal."

"I thought…" Neal choked and continued, "I thought you didn't want me – you didn't love me."

Sara shook her head, and struggled to hold onto him. "No," she choked also, and said, "No – I love you. I always have. I just thought you'd have a happier life _without_ me."

"I want…" Neal struggled for breath, and sniffed. "I want to have a life _with _you."

"You can," Sara nodded with determination. "You _can_, just don't throw yourself into the Hudson to drown yourself. Help me pull you up."

Neal nodded, and grasped her hands with his, and after much struggling, he finally dropped himself beside her on the concrete. They lay gasping for a moment, and then they stood.

And then mother and son held each other, for the very first time in both their lives. They must've stayed like that for several minutes, both sobbing with the joy of finally being reunited. They pulled apart then, but still they kept their arms around each other as they walked away, toward home, toward hope. Toward family.

THE END

**~WC~**

**So…how did you guys like it? I hope it wasn't too weird for you guys, Sara being Neal's mom and all, but as I said in the beginning, I got the idea because I dreamed it, and we all know how weird dreams can be…:)**

**Anyway, please review! I want to know what you guys think! I know it's not like my usual stories, but…**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!**

**where's-waldo-15**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**So, I got a few reviews and PMs about confused people, especially with the whole "Mummy" issue. It's nothing really - yes, I am from the US, but in the dream I had, he was calling her "Mum", and it just seemed so perfect, and I really wanted to include that part. That's all. :) I DO love Harry Potter, though...who doesn't?**

**Thanks for the reviews - I really appreciate them! :)**


End file.
